Down the Middle
by mrboogie94
Summary: AU. "So students like myself are a lost cause?"


Clara's first day of her Introduction to Art History night course started with a bang. The day was miserable to begin with - the rain denying to stop. She didn't plan on braving the elements after long hours at the secondary school she taught at, so she hopped into the nearest taxi waiting at a red light.

Through the huffing and puffing of exhaustion, she didn't even stop to think and realize that maybe the vehicle was already occupied. The weather pushed her towards absurd measures.

An older gentleman sat to her left, his posture stiff, but controlled. A full of head of silver hair. His hands were together. His dark navy trench coat was mildly tampered with by the rain compared to Clara's sopping mess. She rolled her eyes at herself. It wasn't the time to get flustered.

The driver tried to intervene. "Miss-"

"I-I'm sorry," she began, directing her apology to both men. She was, however, more focused on the one beside her. "I'll pay for the extra fare. Take him to his destination."

His blue-grey eyes penetrated her, but they didn't seem harsh. She hoped he would murmur something to prevent her from babbling nonsense. She breathed shortly when the vehicle started forward and he finally spoke. "Where are you expected to be?"

His Scottish draw tickled her spine, the feeling hovering at the back of her neck. She fumbled with her twisted umbrella between her legs.

"The college," she said, collecting her breath.

His shoulders seemed to relax as he looked ahead. "That's fortunate. So am I."

"Oh." Her mouth hung open slightly, the end of her sentence came out almost as a question more than anything. It left an odd feeling in the atmosphere, so she attempted to wrap it up. "Well, then, sorry for startling you."

He didn't respond. Clara eyed his hands, admiring his fingers before digging in her purse for money. She ended up looking out the window for the remainder of the ride. _It's rude to stare, Clara._

When they pulled up to one of the school's entrances, Clara kicked open the door to ready her deformed umbrella. The silver haired gentlemen had given the driver money while she fought with the cheap device at hand. She made a mental note to invest in better items.

She extended her arm to the driver through the window with a few bills in her grasp. "Thank you."

He pushed her hand back. "It's okay, Miss."

"What-"

"He covered your fare."

Clara froze as the rain continued to fall down on the city. She frowned and pulled away from the taxi, quickly bolting towards the college. She saw the man's figure slip into the building and out of the stormy conditions. She speed walked to her ability, but lost sight of him when she scoped the main foyer.

She huffed tiredly, slipping the damp money back into her bag. She took a few minutes to freshen up in the women's room - smoothing down her skirt, brushing her fringe to the side, and reapplying her lipstick.

She wondered if the cash was now guilt money or if he wanted her to pay it forward. She doted on that on her way to the classroom.

She found a seat in the middle row and stayed somewhat near the aisle in case she wanted to bolt. She organized herself with the few minutes left before the lecture. Grabbing her agenda, pens, and notepad, the professor came in muttering a few sorries.

And that Scottish tongue echoed in the room. Clara looked up, startled, thinking she was still in the taxi. She was blinked, trying to compose herself as _he_ gave a brief introduction the the class.

He had paused for a second, because he too had realized who was sitting only a few rows away from him. Her gaze locked on to his. She didn't flinch.

"Call me Doctor."

She wondered if his heart was hammering as well.

* * *

Clara spent the class observing him. Her fingers fiddled by the side of her mouth. She would jot notes when she felt his eyes on her. She never caught him - _that fox - _but she just knew. It laid heavy on her.

When he concluded his lecture, she packed her belongings slowly, keeping her eyes on her bag to him, allowing her classmates to free the room. The Doctor was preparing to leave as well, just glancing over the attendance.

Clara got to her feet and weaved her way to the front of the classroom. Her steps slowed as she approached him. She suddenly felt small next to her lanky professor.

"Doctor."

He had swung his coat on and was adjusting the collar before turning to her. "Yes, Miss.."

"Clara. Clara Oswald," she answered, swinging her purse in front of her knees. "I suppose you remember me."

"I do. What can I be of assistance?" He managed a sidewards smile, hands still around his collar.

Clara shook her head, reaching for the bills again. "Nothing. I just wanted to give you the money I owed."

His eyes dropped to the crunched up bills for a second and then back at her. "I don't want your money, dear."

Her cheeks tightened at the last word. "Doctor, please. I'm going to be an awkward duckling each time I enter your class. Just take it."

He had already secured his briefcase, completely ignoring her fist trying to find his pockets. "Miss Oswald," he started out of the class and she obliged to follow, "It's a few pounds. Don't you let people do things for you?"

When she didn't answer, he filled the void. "I'll see you next week."

* * *

Clara avoided taxis for the next month. She clipped the money to her first assignment and watched the Doctor in all seriousness as she submitted it to him. His eyes didn't flicker.

"How are you, Miss Oswald?" He asked during the fourth class.

"Peachy. And yourself?" She flipped to the marked assignment and found the money, her grade, and a snide comment scribbled in black ink.

_Trying to bribe me for a better grade, yeah?_

She leered at him from over her paper. He had given her a 90 regardless. The Doctor's lips curved upwards amidst the chattering students and he rubbed his neck sheepishly. Clara's face eventually softened into a playful smirk as she shook her head at him.

More classes passed. The two put the taxi incident behind them and moved forward with lessons. Clara will observed him as if he were a rare bird species. He would catch her gaze time after time and they would banter quietly over break. She would lean against his desk with her arms folded and he would be chuckling at her remarks over essays.

Clara usually tried to avoid speaking to him after hours, afraid of what might escape her mouth. Afraid she would pass the student-teacher boundary and start requesting things that were no where near related to the course work.

But when intersession week approached, she marched right the front of the class once everyone had cleared at the usual 9:00pm end time. She adored the time in his classes, but that specific lecture could not have ended sooner.

"Doctor, could I have your number?"

Her bravery struck him. She was never going to flinch, was she?

"What for?" His words came out more harsh than he intended.

She watched him fumble with his paperwork as she processed her thoughts. "I want to pick your brain next week since there's no class. Over brunch, perhaps?"

Clara noticed the lines in his face deepen. Out of embarrassment or confusement? After weeks of watching him from the middle row, she couldn't pinpoint him for once. Was he flustered?

Praying he wouldn't shy away, she was presented with a business card. She smiled up at him as he stood up, the space between them becoming noticeably smaller. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"When's a good time?" He asked almost timidly. His exhale was slow as her bright eyes searched him.

She tapped the card to her bottom lip. "You tell me."

* * *

The secondary school Clara taught at was not open the next Friday, so the Doctor agreed to meet her then. They agreed on a fair time in the afternoon. She suggested a family run all day breakfast pub her father use to take her to.

The Doctor was seated in the back by the window before she arrived. He had his spectacles on, a hand on his coffee mug, and the other on the daily paper. Clara's heart hummed at the sight.

"Doctor," she said simply, catching him off guard. He glanced upwards and stood to greet her.

"Afternoon, Miss Oswald," he said, putting the current events behind his back.

She tilted her head, imitating the tone he used when he first introduced himself. "Clara. Call me Clara." She wanted to smack the smirk he failed to contain.

The two placed their order and Clara rambled nervously, but excitedly about school to fill in the obvious silence they yet knew how to occupy.

"What did you want to discuss? Your paper?" He asked after a refill of coffee.

She sipped her tea and casted her eyes down. That was the last thing on her mind. But she shook her head in a coy manner. "No. That's not it."

His eyebrows rose - such a dominant feature. "Then?"

Her shoulder came forward, not intentionally shrugging. "I wanted to know more about your teaching background."

She could see in his stare that he didn't believe her statement, but he played along.

He leaned back carefully, as if his back were at risk, and pushed a hand through his thick curls. "It's been almost thirty years now.. Taught high school for ten and then tertiary until now."

Clara leaned her cheek against her palm, pushing the fact that he was twice her age out of mind. "Which did you prefer?"

"Couldn't tell you," he mused. "There are pros and cons to both. When they're younger, you have a chance to mould them into better thinkers - better people."

She smiled to herself. "So students like myself are a lost cause?"

His face feigned agreement. "Well.."

She laughed. Their food arrived and as she cut into her omelette, she told him that she was a teacher herself. His response was expected, but she didn't know if he was prepared for her answer.

He had yet to pick at his meal. "Where are you taking my class then?"

_To further my education while I have the opportunity, _she wanted to say.

Instead, she said, "What's it to you? Am I bother, Doctor?"

His neck flushed, and it wasn't because of the usual strain he felt. Hiding in his coffee or toast wouldn't do.

They had nearly strangled each other over the bill, but the Doctor managed to slip his credit card to the waitress over Clara's protests. Their server shot Clara an envious look before seeing them off.

"You really have to stop doing that," she murmured as she threw on her coat. He responded with a tight, half smile, almost to say, "as if".

They walked around the village, as it was still early in the day. She prodded him more about his early teaching years, his thoughts on the class he currently taught, because personal information still seemed too soon despite her yearning.

She led him into a store of trinkets, scented candles, rainbow windmills, snazzy greeting cards, and premature Christmas decorations. Only the store owner was present aside from the pair. The interior was tight, so they were inclined to stay within close perimeters of each other. She would be admiring one thing and he would be staring at model airplanes on the other side of the room, but their dialogue continued.

At one point, she backed into him and yelped - afraid she had knocked something expensive off its display. He touched her elbow assuringly, calming her. The spot on her arm seemed to burn afterwards.

He eased her around a tight corner in the store, around an array of sarcastic mugs. "You haven't told me why it is you enjoy teaching."

She pulled her attention away from a vintage tea set. She was inclined to reach out for it, but then recalled her recent stumble.

"Minds to mould," she echoed him from earlier, tossing him a glance. She was met with a hard, blue-eyed stare. She shrugged, as she never had a proper answer to what joys she found in being a teacher. "I guess I like people."

"Even teenagers," he joked, rubbing his chin in disdain.

Her voice became thin. It shook momentarily. "Even you."

He swallowed noticeably and said nothing. The corners of his lips appeared to curve up almost ironically. It made her stomach churn uncomfortably. He drew himself away from her again and took another stroll around the store, leaving her with the tea set.

Only when they returned outside did he ask to see her again.

"Took you long enough." She smiled when he pressed a kiss to her hand.

* * *

They met frequently during the last two months of the semester. They would go out for late dinners after class or have tea during slow parts of the week.

It only became troublesome when other people were involved. A student who harboured a crush on Clara accused her for sleeping with the Doctor to boost her final grade. It came off playfully at first, until a few others had silently agreed with her so called admirer.

"Grow up," she seethed. She had the urge to flick them across the foreheads. She dealt with the same nonsense during her day job. She had no need for drama in her personal life, not just when she was finally satisfied with it.

"He's jealous he doesn't have your brains," the Doctor said to her one evening in his flat. They were on his sofa, winding down after their day. "I'm not flattering you. I assess his work, don't forget."

"Oh, hush. He's just being a child," she said, swirling the wine in her glass.

"Take a compliment, dear," he murmured, ignoring her scowl. She eased up when he rested his hand on her knee.

Aside from petty issues, it was simple and comforting for them. For people who appeared to prefer routine in their daily lives, they were so willing and open to alter it for the other. And that was enough for them to keep returning to each other.

* * *

"Why don't you drive?" she asked him.

They were at his place again. His muscles were bothering him more than usual and Clara realized she should have shown more concern with his aches rather than passing it off for ageing symptoms.

"Because I adore the company of strangers in taxis. Couldn't you tell?" he managed to say through his strenuous headache.

Her expression hung dark over him. "Doctor."

He sighed, slowly telling her of his incident a few months before he started teaching his art history course. His car swerved out of control while driving out of the city, and he couldn't for the life of him remember who was at fault. He wanted to take responsibility, but he aimed the blame on pedestrians. The fear of risking the very little life he thought he still had kept him on edge. And he used it as an excuse not to get into the driver's seat. He got his vehicle repaired, left it in his building's garage, and told himself that one day he would drive again. Maybe.

"I'm lucky this is all I have endure," he said, closing his eyes. "Better than having my life taken away."

"Don't say that," she snapped, storming to his bathroom. She threw open the medicine cabinet and reached in, looking for his medication. She pushed away over-the-counter bottles until she found prescription containers.

She skimmed for recent dates, a few months before she started school. But her heart stopped when his name appeared on the labels. Not his doctor's name, but _the _Doctor's name.

She had to sit down on the toilet seat lid for a good moment. She would stare at the bottle and then back at the wall in front of her. She mouthed his name to herself, trying to steady her heartbeat. Only when she heard him groaning in pain from the other room did she get back up.

He watched her return, noticing her eyes on the verge of watering. "What's wrong?"

And his name released from her mouth.

* * *

Then there the time where she convinced him to stay the night, despite it being past 3:00am. She held out her hand, welcomed him into her home and into the comfort of her bedroom. It wasn't as if he hadn't been there before, but under those circumstances - no. He shrugged off his jacket apprehensively as she slipped into a grey shirt and printed pajama bottoms.

"This is all right?" His voice dropped, loosening the cuffs of his white dress shirt.

"It's all right," she repeated, biting back a smile. She apologized for not having anything for him to wear, but she did have a spare toothbrush and painkillers.

They didn't look at each other in the mirror while they shared her bathroom space, but she faced him when their head hit the pillows. Whatever light seeped through the window illuminated the drowsy features on their flushed faces. His mouth twitched when she broke the gaze they were boring into each other and flipped to her side to pull the duvet over them.

"You flinched," he accused.

She turned back over, half-glaring. "I don't flinch. Keep dreaming."

He scoffed as the edge of the duvet grazed his cheek. He felt her eventually lean into him when her temper had fused, her arms finding their way around the middle of his torso. Her face almost pressed to his collarbones.

"Is this all right?" she whispered tiredly.

The low hum in his throat obliged.

* * *

He had surprised her one Wednesday afternoon before his class. He took his car to her school, much to his dismay, but he wasn't in the mood or condition to take public transportation. It was the first time in months behind the wheel since his accident. Safety, safety, he repeated to himself.

He picked up lunch for her on the steady drive over. He approached the steps of Coal Hill Secondary School with caution and a dense paper bag in his grip. Debating if he should wait in his vehicle a while longer, he glanced at his watch to reaffirm that it was indeed lunch time. He could hear the students playing out in the fields.

He entered through the front door, holding his breath. Blue staircases leading to the upper levels were situated to his left. The office was positioned on the right. He pushed through another set of doors and came face to face with the head secretary behind her tall desk.

She picked up the phone at the sight of the man in front of her. "Are you here to pick up your son or daughter?"

His brow furrowed and his frown lines extended. He rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "No.. I'm here to see Clara Oswald."

"Parent-teacher conferences are not-"

He held up a hand in frustration. "No, no. I'm not a parent. I'm a f-friend. A friend. So if you wouldn't mind ringing her, I'd like to deliver her lunch."

The secretary narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"In person," he grunted, asserting himself.

He thought she was going to spew out more excuses to refuse his entry into the school, but she made the call and told him to wait back in the foyer.

It didn't take long to hear those familiar footsteps to come racing down those blue staircases. She grasped the railings, looked down at him from the landing, and grinned. "Aren't you full of surprises."

He gleamed up at her, finding no reason to suppress his own delight. He ignored the tension in his neck as she came down the stairs, gracefully straightening out her black shorts as she paced forward. She pulled the lapels of his jacket gently, bringing him towards her. He managed to rest his forehead near the crown of her head. Her hands slid down from his shoulders of his grey jacket to his own hands.

She sighed, her voice already breaking. "You're too much."

He breathed out. Content.

* * *

Clara kissed him in public after their last class. It was probably the only exam she was happy to write. She waited for him on the front steps of the college and when he finally walked out through the doors, she got on her toes and he leaned down shyly to meet her lips. She touched his face, running her thumb gently over his stubble.

"You're not my teacher anymore," she said, disappointment nearly lacing the sentence.

He secured his hand around hers. "That's not entirely true."

Her brow furrowed and they began their journey back to her flat - where fragments of her belongings were missing, where his books and clothes filled in the spaces, where the two them seeked refuge from the world.

He stopped walking when she pressed her face against his bicep. "What is it, love?"

She smiled into him, shaking her head. "Nothing."

_You're still my Doctor._


End file.
